(Original Post - January 2015)
Yeah, I’ve got lots of complaints.
Perhaps the one I voice most frequently is that I don’t have enough time to do the things I want or need to do. Case in point: writing posts for this blog. I made a few notes on an idea I had for a post a while back, and now, several months later, I’m finally getting around to doing it. Was there not an hour or two in the past several months that I could have set aside to do this? Yeah, there probably was. But, for some reason, I didn’t find the time.
I may have been too busy complaining.
When the idea for the post came to me, myself and my family were spending a bit of time visiting my parents in Bellevue Beach. It was the typical sort of visit; lots of kids playing in the backyard, barbeque fired up, cold drinks readily available, and people dropping by to enjoy the lazy summer afternoon.
A couple of the kids who came by were new to me. Neighbors of my parents wandered over across the lawn that afternoon with two kids in tow. The kids were the grandchildren of my cousin's partner. They were visiting from Alberta; a couple of boys who were getting a taste of Newfoundland life and culture.
The boys were holding hands, but the younger soon released the hand of his older sibling, and took off to join in with a few kids on the playset. The older continued to walk with the adults, his head turning occasionally as something or another caught his attention. He was taking it all in, eager to experience the crowd and the activity. The only difference between this little boy and the others that romped all over the place was that he was blind.
It would be an understatement to say that hanging out with this boy, Jakob, was an incredible experience. It was a lot of fun, but it was a learning experience as well. I have a tendency, when in Bellevue Beach, to wander back and forth between the chatting adults and the playing kids – I think there’s something about being at my childhood home that makes me want to kick a soccer ball or toss a Frisbee. So over the couple of days we were there, I got to know Jakob a bit. One of the first things he wanted me to do was give him a little tour of my parents’ home. He took my hand and went in for a ‘look’. Through the living room, kitchen and dining room (where he commented on the food he smelled), and down a hallway where I pointed out the bedrooms and washrooms. His questions were frequent and specific. ‘What’s in here?’ ‘Where’s the couch?’ ‘Who sleeps in that room?’
We went back outside and played for a bit. He loved using the hammer, perhaps for the sensory effect of the sound and feel of the tool. We gathered up some wood – a few lengths of 2 by 4 and extra pieces of plywood that were kicking around, and proceeded to build.
“What are we going to build, Jakob?”
“A building. A big one. Like the ones back in Alberta.”
I took the longest 2 by 4 and put it next to him. Then I guided his hand, which gripped the hammer, to the board, and told him “This is an important piece. You gotta hit this one hard.”
The dents that Jakob put in that piece of wood were impressive. The kid could swing a hammer. We continued on, hammering some pieces, stacking others, until he actually started to work up a sweat.
“You know what?” he said. “I think this building is actually bigger than the ones in Alberta.” And in his eyes, it actually was.
A little while later he said he needed to go to the washroom, and asked me to lead him to the door. So off we went again, up the steps, through the open front door and into the house. As we entered, I noticed that my parents’ cat was standing in an archway. As myself and this cat have a very strained relationship (‘strained’ meaning that he takes great joy from testing the sharpness of his claws on my ankles), I decided to take a different route. As I did so, Jakob’s grip on my hand tightened, and he stopped dead in his tracks.
“David, you’re going the wrong way.”
For 37 years, I’ve been able to navigate my way to that washroom. On this day, however, I went the wrong way. It was one of those moments that makes you stop and smile, and more importantly, think. We complain about so many things that we see as obstacles or hardships. However, we’re pretty fortunate that there are kids like Jakob who remind us that for every adversity we might face, there’s a way to adapt. In one quick little walk through the house, he had mentally mapped out the rooms and the route, knowing that if he went back in, he’d be more aware and more prepared to locate what he wanted. I complain about so many things, when 99% of the time, my time would be better spent looking for solutions, looking for ways to adapt and move on.
“You’re right Jakob. My way was the wrong way.” He nodded knowingly, and we moved on.
As I’m writing this post, another example comes to mind, one too profound to not mention.
A few years ago, I was sitting in the staffroom at my school when a teacher shared a story that was one of the most powerful I’ve ever heard. She had a little girl in her class, a girl that had recently moved to our school from a rural community. She and her family needed to be closer to the Janeway Children’s Hospital to make it easier for her to get her cancer treatments. She was, and is, an inspiration in so many ways. She hated to miss a day of school, even when her treatments made her sick, even when her immune system was compromised, she’d beg her mom to bring her to class.
On this day, the class was doing an assignment in which the kids had to write about something that makes them sad; some sort of challenge that they struggle to overcome. You can imagine the thoughts of this teacher as she sees the little girl walking slowly up to her desk. Showing signs of fatigue from her treatments, and with almost no hair left as a result, it’s a moment that could possibly prove extremely difficult for all involved.
Yet, the concern that caused the child to approach the teacher was not what one might expect.
“Miss… I can’t think of anything to write about.”
It’s hard to imagine. What this little girl went through was, to many, unthinkable. And for her to come to her teacher, stumped by what she could discuss as a hardship, is simply stunning. And humbling. Those words, that one small sentence, reflect a positivity that is staggering, and will stay with me for a long, long time.
There are many kids (and more often, adults) that find hardship where none exists, and there are others that experience profound hardship, but do not see it as such.
The little girl at my school is immune to despondency.
Jakob, to my eyes, is blind to adversity.
Yeah, I’ve got lots of complaints.
…Except, really, I don’t.
Short Thought: There's always a better way. Find it.
“Your success and happiness lies in you. Resolve to keep happy, and you and your joy shall form an invincible host against difficulties.” Helen Keller
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